


Before

by lea_ysaye



Series: When Life Changes [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Daryl Whump, Hurt, Illnesses, M/M, Masturbation, Napping, POV Daryl, POV First Person, POV Rick, POV Second Person, Pre-Relationship, Tenderness, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4791989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_ysaye/pseuds/lea_ysaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of prequel chapters to the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/310134">When Life Changes</a> series.</p><p>Daryl and Rick are musing about each other, and something is developing. They can't acknowledge it to each other, but both know it's there. How will they deal with their feelings?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the prison

**Author's Note:**

> While we wait for season 6, and I wait for canon to tell me where to take this story in Alexandria (it’s going to continue with [Lives](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4653861)) I have started this third part of the series as a prequel, a sequence of short chapters that tell some of the backstory of the [When Life Changes](http://archiveofourown.org/series/310134) series. They will not really be in chronological order, but I’ll try to make clear when they’re set so you don’t get too lost.
> 
> It’s useful to read the other parts of the series first, but these chapters will probably work without that, too.
> 
> I hope it all makes sense, and that you continue to enjoy my POV experiment. :)

I know it’s not real, and when it’s light and busy and noisy out there I know it never will b’, and that’s almost ok. But at night, when it’s quiet and I’m in my cell, alone, the fantasy of him comin’ to me feels more real than most things these days.

He comes through the door, pushin’ aside the bedsheet I use for a curtain, smilin’ at me, only me. I smile back, not like I usually do, all sideways glances and nervous like, but a real smile, where my eyes smile too and I know he can understand my feelings just by looking at my face. The smile that tells him I’m his, forever.

When I get to that bit of the fantasy my hands begin to slide down my chest, over my shirt, cuz I never take that off. They find the buttons on my pants, cuz most nights they stay on, too, when I go to bed. Buttons undone, one hand wanders in, one rests on my belly, right on the skin, shirt pushed up.

In my head he’s come into the cell all the way now, eyes still on me. He sits on the narrow bunk next to me, careful not to hit his head. In this fantasy we don’t talk, though I know what I’d say to him. I’d tell I‘im, with words I could never find or use in the daytime, how much I have waited for that moment, how much I want him. How good it feels to have him here, cuz I’ve been so fuckin’ lonely.

All this, even in my own fantasy, I can never say, but somehow, I don’t have to, he just knows.

I’m hard now, all the way, and as I start strokin’ myself slowly I close my eyes, and in my mind he leans down and kisses me, all tender like. I’ve never been kissed like that in my life, so I need to use my imagination a lot here. For me, it’s only ever been quick fucks behind sleazy bars, in some revoltin’ public toilet, or out in the woods. Usually there’d be no kissin’ at all, not least cuz I’m so bad at initiating things, demandin’ what I want. What I would have wanted, more of’en than not, is someone who was nice, and gentle. But bein’ what I am, I usually had to take what I could get, and that’s usually rough. It‘s ok, I deserve it.

From kissin’ we move on to touchin’. He undoes my shirt buttons and I sit up halfway, let him push the shirt off my shoulders. In my fantasy, I have no scars, no reason to hide my back, or my past. I can bear to feel him touch me all over, and he does so, and my arms are covered in gooseflesh for real, here, alone, in my cell.

My hand speeds up then, I can feel the arousal mounting behind my belly button and wriggle out of my pants halfway. Never more, just in case someone needs me in a hurry. The night air is cool against my heated skin and I can’t suppress a shudder. It’ll slow me down some, the cold, but that’s ok with me, I’m enjoyin’ the fantasy. No need to rush things.

He kisses my chest, touches the hair there, gently, fingers cool against warm skin. I love this sensation, his calloused fingers so soft on me. Impossible difference, so kind and careful, with me, with Judith, but I know what else these hands can do. Of course, it’s just in my head that he feels like dis, but somehow, I’m sure it’s true.

He bites my nipples, then, sucks and plays with them, and I slip my hand further up my shirt, try to mimic the sensation. Then I let that hand join the other down below, cradlin’ my balls. I’m closecloseclose now.

In fantasies ya can do whatever ya want, of course, so I have him lyin’ on top of me next, bare chested, then completely naked. I can feel him press against me, his erection against my hip bone, hard but smooth.

This is my favorite bit, imaginin’ feelin’ him so close, weighin’ me down, keepin’ me from driftin’ away. Cuz that, sometimes, is my biggest fear. I still feel like leavin’ too often, and it scares me. But then I think of this, of him, and I know I won’. I tried to go with Merle, and it would have been the biggest mistake of my life, had we stayed away. I can never leave, no’ him, no’ the kids, and it’s not really a joyful feelin’. It’s scary as hell, too. Mostly, tho I know this is where I belong, with him, and my feelings for him, even if they will be one-sided forever, show me this is right.

He looks into my eyes for a long time, stroking my face, gaze so gentle, so full o’ love. He loves me, I know it then, in my fantasy, and it hurts, that that’s all it is. But then I imagine him shiftin’, gettin’ ready to fuck me, and this is the best feeling, that anticipation.

My hand speeds up again as I imagine him enterin’ me, and I suppress a groan. I’m so close, but I want to make this last.

Cuz it’s not real it never hurts, and we don’t need lube to fuck. He knows how to do it right to give me pleasure, of course, since this is my head’s version of Rick. He goes slow when I need him to, faster when I’m ready.

Sometimes I use my fingers at this point, to make it feel more real, to stimulate my prostate. It’s not the same as bein’ penetrated, of course, cuz your fingers can never give you that feelin’ of bein’ filled up by someone else, of bein’ consumed, of connectin’. This time, I don’t need them anyway.

I can imagine perfectly, what it feels like, him hitting my sweet spot. He pulls out, and enters me ‘gain, repeats this a few times, until I’m tremblin’. Then he stays in, stays very still, while I feel stretched just right, around him, with him. I’m crestin’ the top of the wave now.

My hands have stopped, but pick up their rhythm ‘gain now. My fingers tighten, pull, squeeze my balls. I won’t last a minute now, whatever I do, so while I adjust my hands on myself until the sensation is perfect I look at his face in my mind, imagine his eyes on me as I draw closer to the climax. There’s lust in those eyes, but also the things I see in them every day. Trust, fondness, friendship. Real concern, like nobody’s ever shown me in my life before I met him.

Cuz thats Rick. He is what I never had before. A real brother, who loves my no matter what. A friend who has my back. Family that actually cares what happens to me. When ‘m at this poin’ in my fantasy I always remember the real connection I have with him, and don’t feel so much like there needs to be more between us. I have his real affection by day, and if I fantasize about him at night it don’t hurt nobody.

My fantasy draws to a close when he moves ‘gain, small movements now, not much is needed. He leans down and kisses me, once, then stays low as we both edge closer and closer. I feel it, the moment orgasm becomes inevitable and my fingers tighten, and in my mind, I tighten around him. I come, and come, and come, and so does he, and it’s perfect.

I stay still, my breathing the only sound I make, until my cum starts to feel cool on my hands and belly. I reach down to where a couple rags are hidden under the bed for that purpose and clean up. Once my clothes are back in order I turn over, facing the wall. I feel sleepy now. This was perfect.

Or it would’ve been, had it been real.


	2. At the prison

You watch him a lot, you are aware of it. You realized how you’d do it increasingly during the winter, just after the farm. At first it was really cos you were worried about him, after Sophia, after Dale. You could see he was suffering, but you didn’t quite feel up to offering help. You just didn’t know what you could have done, or said to him that would have made a difference. So you stayed quiet, but you watched.

He changed, after Sophia. Or maybe you just noticed it then, cos you all changed, and things were never the same. Never again a return to the former innocence, not even for Carl.

He took it especially hard, you know that. At first you thought maybe he and Carol could help each other get through it, but you don’t think that worked all that well. You know they love each other, but that doesn’t seem to be enough. They are too similar, in many ways too damaged, both of them, to really help the other heal. Oh, you know they’re not weak, neither of them. But when they look at each other it must be a bit like looking into a mirror, a constant reminder in the other’s eyes of what’s happened, of the shame, whether real or imagined. Of the pain, and that’s only too real. And sometimes, you know, helping must be helping to forget, even if just a little. They can’t do that for one another.

And you think that he feels like he can’t burden Carol with his grief. He thinks she’s suffering enough, and maybe he’s right. So he kept it all bottled up, after that one outburst when he moved far away into the fields, away from you all. He still keeps it all in, you know.

Sometimes, when he goes out, scouting alone, for hours, even days, you are distracted with worry until he’s back. Cos he looks so pale and tense when he leaves, like he’s ready to jump out of his skin at the smallest fright. Often when he comes back he looks even paler, exhausted, even ill. The skin around his eyes looks paper thin, then, translucent. He’s lost weight since the group has settled in the prison. You’ve noticed cos it should have been the other way round, really. There’s enough food now most of the time.

You wish you had the guts to talk to him, ask him about it all, offer some comfort, if you can.

Cos he’s been there for you, both when things with Lori got unbearable and when she died. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. What he did for you is worth more than all the words in the world.

During the winter, when things got real stressful with Lori, he’d always known when you’d reached the end of your tether. Then he’d come over, look at you for a moment and give a small jerk with his head.

“’m goin’ out. Wanna come with?”

You started looking forward to those outings like nothing else in that life you all lead now. You and he hardly ever talked about anything out there, but the peace and quiet were like a vacation for your soul. You’d begun to need these outings, crave them, when you came upon the prison.

Since Lori’s death he’s gone out mostly alone, cos you’re so busy. But he can still tell when you’re overwhelmed. He’ll come and sit close by, usually with the crossbow or some snares to mend, or cradling Judith, cooing to her, whispering. Just looking at him, peaceful and focused on his task, or smiling and relaxed with your daughter, gives you more calm than anything else. You still don’t talk much, there’s just no need.

How you wish you could repay his kindness, help him when the darkness closes its rotten fingers around his heart. Cos you can see when it happens, when he withdraws into himself, when he goes still, then flees the safety of the prison as if haunted.

But all you have are words, to soothe, to console, and you know they won’t help him. His world is not one of words, and his demons can’t simply be talked away. You resolve to try harder to think of something to do for him. Cos he’s becoming really important to you, in more ways than you quite care to explore.

At night, alone in your cell, your thoughts often revolve around him now. And when you touch yourself, to relieve some of the tension and relax more easily into sleep, he’s there, in your mind, more often than not, and there’s nothing you can do about that. It’s still new, only half acknowledged, but you are increasingly aware of it, and more and more do you wish what’s in your mind at night could be explored for real in the daylight as well.


	3. On the farm

I know how awful that was, what I said to her. And she just stood there and took it, lookin’ so sad. I know why that is, of course. She looked like my ma, when pa’d shout and rage at her, call her stupid, call her useless. And it’s me who made her look like that today. Me. Not Merle, not pa. Not her loser husband Ed. Me. I’d always promised myself the one thing I’d avoid is be that kind of man.

The kind who rages, hurls abuse at those he should protect, cherish. The kind that hits you, asks questions later. The kind that gets so drunk he forgets everything that’s decent, worth livin’ for. The thought that it’s me put that look on her face just now? It makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Like I need more help with that’. My stomach’s been a burnin’ knot of agony all these last few days. Every day I went out and couldn’t find Sophia it got a lil worse. First I just feel it in the evenin’, a bit of nausea at dinner. It got so that I’d just push my food around some, then, when the bile was burnin’ at the back of my throat and I couldn’t swallow all of that saliva fast enough past the lump in my stomach, I’d give my plate to Lori and Carl and walk off quickly, away from the smell of food, and I’d be all right, until the next night.

Then the second night after I fell off the horse I woke up at night with the worst pain in my stomach I’ve ever had. I bolted from my tent, sure I’d puke any second, but nothin’ happened. I paced back and forth a bit, stopped every few minutes cuz the gaggin’ was so strong I was sure I’d be sick, but nothin’ came up. The cramps only got worse, and they seemed to be coming from my gut as well as my stomach. Then I felt that pressure ya get when ya really need the bathroom, and I thought maybe I caught a shittin’ bug at long last.

Without going into much detail, that part of the night was awful, and I was occupied with that misery for hours. But it did nothin’ to improve the gnawin’ in my stomach. At daybreak I was so exhausted I just passed out leaning against a tree. I felt like ass all next day, and while I’ve not had a return of those incredible pains in my stomach and gut, I’ve felt nauseous since then.

Now I’m out in the field ‘gain, pacin’. The sick feelin’ has been gettin’ worse ever since that lil body staggered out of the barn, and I’ve swallowed back the bile risin’ in my throat too many times to count. It’s makin’ me more and more exhausted, tryin’ to fight it, and I feel dizzy and disoriented. There’s nobody in sight, so I crouch down and let my head hang between my knees, hopin’ the world will stop spinnin’ if I stop for a bit. It doesn’t, if anythin’ it gets worse.

I can taste the bile again, try and spit some out, with all that spit that’s collectin’ in my mouth. It’s stringy and foul, and I gag. I stagger back upright and pace some more.

Why did they not tell us? Hershel, or Maggie, if her dad couldn’t? And why didn’t we realize somethin’ was off here? Me, or Shane, or Rick? Rick… he was so angry, when I snuck away and nearly broke my neck fallin’ down that ravine. I’ve been a disappointment to him, lyin’, sneakin’ ‘way, and not even findin’ the girl…

I so want him to think well of me, be accepted, trusted, taken into the group. I’d’ve scoffed at that, before the world turned to shit, but now ’m not embarrassed. I know he’s the right one to lead us. I trust him, and I want him t’trust me, too. But I’m such a fucking failure, that’s unlikely ever to happen, and that thought makes m’ feel worse’n ever.

I stop under a tree, savor the shade. He’s never gonna trust me as he trusts Shane, and whatever I do, that’s never gonna change. That thought hits me like a blow to the stomach, and I double up as suddenly the pain’s back. This time, I know I‘m not getting’ around the pukin’, I can feel that tell-tale vertiginous feelin’ lurkin’ just out of sight.

I dry heave a few times. Man, this sucks. It’s as painful as pukin’ for real and tears are springin’ to my eyes cuz it hurts so much. I lean my arm against the tree, my forehead on the arm. My other hand presses down hard on my stomach. I don’ know why, but that pressure sometimes helps. Course, this time it doesn’t. I feel the acid risin’ up in my throat.

Sophia’s dead. I didn’t even know her, hardly know her mum. I hardly know any of them, and they don’t know me. Why should I care? Why do I feel this awful about not bein’ able to save one of them? Them not seein’ who I am? Rick not trustin’ me? Rick…

The thought of the disappointment, the exasperation on his face is what finally does it. I feel the pressure buildin’ in my throat and just about manage to lean to one side before it all comes up in a rush. I wouldn’t have thought, ten seconds ago, that I could feel any more miserable, be in more pain. Feel more disgusted with my life. I was wrong.

Once I start it feels like I’m unable to stop pukin’. I’m bent over for ages, gaggin’, retchin’. Then it’d subside, and I try and straighten up, only for the next wave of nausea to have me doubled over again in a moment. I’m soon shakin’, covered in sweat. My head hurts so much I’m sure it’ll burst.

I still hold on to the tree for balance, but that’s not enough for long and I’m sure I’ll pass out. I let myself crash to the ground, half landin’ in my own sick. I can’t see too well cuz of the tears in my eyes, and I don’ really care. I just want to die. If a walker appeared from behind the tree now I’d lie back and he could have at me.

Course that doesn’t happen. Why would life ever be that easy for me? Finally the heavin’ don’t bring up nothin’ but bile, and soon that stops, too. My stomach still hurts, but it’s almost bearable now, and so is the nausea. Or I’m just too exhausted to care. I don’t know any more.

I stagger back upright and lean against the tree to get my bearin’. I want nothin’ more than lie down and sleep. But I can’t do that, not yet. Firs’, I have to move my tent. Get away from them all as far as I can. Away from them eyes on me. From their disappointment.

I slowly make my way back to camp, feelin’ defeated. But ’m used to this. I’m a failure and will only ever be the outcast.


	4. On the farm

You remember that that’s when you first started watching him, when that little girl came out of the barn. He’d rushed forward, caught Carol round the middle, sank to the ground with her, unable to pry his eyes away from what was happening by the barn door. You thought at the time he’d gone down cos Carol had collapsed in his arms. Now you’re almost sure he would have crumpled in a heap regardless, the sheer horror of what he was seeing making his legs too weak to hold him upright.

You’ve had your eyes on him ever since, you can’t seem to help it. You started worrying about him when he moved his tent away from the camp. He looked ghostly pale when he returned from wherever he’d gone to hide after you killed Sophia, and you wanted to go to him then and tell him to have a break. He’d not even recovered from his fall and the crossbow bolt injury, but you knew he wouldn’t stop overreaching until someone told him to.

You didn’t go to him, and now you feel guilty cos he’s out there alone, and you know he’s suffering. You’re not sure what’s wrong, exactly, why he looks so ill all of a sudden, but you have your suspicions. Thinking back, he looked unwell for a few days even before he almost broke his neck when he fell off that damn horse. You were so angry then, and you know it hurt him, your disappointment. You couldn’t help it, you were annoyed cos he was adding to the stress, and you were also scared out of your mind for him. That’s a bit of an extreme reaction, when you stop and think about it, over someone you hardly know getting hurt. For now you don’t stop, you don’t think.

There are a lot of things worrying you at the moment. Never mind the overall misery of this existence, which will become a bigger and bigger problem, you know that. More immediate threats are weighing heavily on your mind right now. Shane, for one. He’s creating tension. And you know you’ll have to deal with it for good very soon. And then there’s Lori. My god, but why did she do it? Why try and kill the unborn child she’s carrying? The confession about her and Shane after that… you don’t know what’s worse.

Your thoughts are all over the place. No way out, they just go round and round in circles, trapped in a hamster wheel of indecision. No choices, really. Stick together, or die alone, seem the only two. Sounds straightforward, but it isn’t, when the people you have to stick close to really want to stab you in the back.

He came to you and Shane earlier, telling you what he’d learned from that boy Randall. You were horrified when you saw his hands, knuckles raw and bleeding. You’ve since seen what the boy looks like, and the thought of what drove Daryl to beat him up like that makes you feel sick.

Sick, that’s what he looked like when he came to you. Like he’d been sick. Pale and sweaty, his eyes puffy, glassy, like he’d been crying. There was a haunted air about him, too, and he seemed to be in pain. You have seen him several times press his hand down hard on his stomach since you got to the farm, and his hand never strayed far from his middle the whole time he reported back what Randall had given up under torture.

Torture. Why would Daryl do this? He’s not a brutal man, you know that much about him already. Strong, yes, but he doesn’t use that to hurt, not without very good reason. On the contrary, he’s only used it to help and to defend, until now. He’s trying so hard to fit in with the group, and you know that’s not easy for him. He wants to pull his weight, you can tell. Maybe that’s what this was? Maybe he thought you needed answers and that he’d do the heavy deed, put himself through the agony of hurting that boy, so you didn’t have to?

The thought makes you sad, even while you’re grateful. You hate the idea that Daryl would think it doesn’t matter what this does to his own soul as long as he’s able to contribute something valuable to the group. You make a promise, a commitment, to yourself then.

Let the hunter know that he’s valued. Make sure he understands he doesn’t have to do these things, be the one who takes on the jobs nobody else wants, to be part of this group. He needs to know that he’s already part of it, and doesn’t have to prove himself, or else risk being kicked out. He’s proved his worth enough times already anyway, and he needs a rest now urgently, that much is clear.

You suddenly realize he already is a very important part of your new life. You hadn’t seen it so clearly until now, but now that you think about it it’s obvious: This man, whom you would have viewed with suspicion, put aside as unimportant at best, or seen as a liability at worst before the world ended, this redneck is going to be essential for the group’s survival without even trying very hard.

You already think of him as your hunter, and you have a feeling he’ll be much, much more to you, to your family, to all of you, before long.


	5. The first winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, these are not in chronological order. I write them to amuse myself as we wait for season 6, and as the ideas pop into my head. The chapter titles indicate when in the storyline they take place.

He’s here with me, and it’s just us, and I’m happy.

These las’ few months have been hard on all of us, but for him it’s been much worse. I watch his face, and I can see the lines etched into it. Most weren’t there when I first met him. Hell, sometimes it seems most of them weren’t there las’ week.

He’s sitting with his eyes closed, leanin’ against the wall of an old factory we just found. That’s why I can look at him like this, in peace. Study him. I’d never dare to if he weren’t so relaxed. It’s usually him lookin’ at me with that intense scrutiny, that cop look he gets. I both hate and crave that attention.

Hate it cuz he usually does it when I’ve done something he don’t like, and I always fear he’ll shout at me, when he looks like that. I don’t even know why I think that. He’s never shouted at me so far. It’s just stuck so deep in me, that fear of authority.

And I crave his attention cuz I want him, I need him, to think well of me. Actually, it’s more’n that. I need _him_. There, ’ve said it, at leas’ to myself. I crave Rick Grimes. His body, his mind, his soul. I crave his touch, his gaze on me, I crave his love. Cuz that’s what I’m... in love. But it’ll never do. This redneck, to this cop, can never be more’n a friend. I think he’s that now, at least. A friend. An ally. We have to be, else we have nobody.

I know he needs me, they all do. Cuz we’re no longer safely at the farm. We’re out in the open. Vulnerable. They need the muscle, and they need someone to feed them. And I give ‘em both. I know I don’ have to. I know I could survive on me own, maybe even better, with less fuss. But it’s too late for that. I’m used to it now, havin’ them around, sharin’ a campfire with them. I’m lonely when I go out on a hunt.

Oh I enjoy it, the loneliness. But only cuz there’s somewhere I know I’ll return to, after. Other people, breathin’, talkin’. Yeah, even the constant chattering I miss. Cuz it means they’re still alive, still hopin’.

And I’d miss him. So much so, just the thought of it makes me feel sick.

Sick, there it is again. It’s actually much better now, I hardly feel like throwin’ up at all these days. It got real bad, for a bit, on the farm. I felt so nauseous all the time, I actually welcomed that feeling of pressure at the back of my throat, that roiling sensation in my gut that meant I’d vomit any sec. Pukin’ made it less for a while, that damn feelin’ of helplessness. It got so That I’d sometimes make myself be sick on purpose, just to feel less shitty for a bit. Course I didn’ tell anyone, ’s such a lil girl thing to do. Put ya finger down ya throat, make yerself puke for attention.

I think he suspected somethin’ was goin’ on, tho. That’s mostly why I stopped forcin’ it. I didn’t want his eyes on me like that, all disappointed like. Suspicious. Thought he’d call me on it, for a while. That would’ve been awful. After a while it just faded. Events caught up with us and I was distracted, and busy.

And tired, fuck I’m tired. Out here, with no protection, with no fences between us and them, and no other warnin’ system but our eyes and ears, sleep’s a luxury, even more so, some days, ‘n food and clean water. When it’s just me, going out on my own, it’s fine. I don’ worry much about getting’ bit, or runnin’ out of food, or findin’ somewhere safe to sleep.

But with a group, none of them things are easy. And with a group That includes a pregnant woman and a child ’s impossible to shut down the worry, even when we’re somewhere safe enough, and quiet enough, to have a proper night’s sleep.

I don’ remember when it started that I had trouble sleepin’, but it was after we’d left the farm. It’s not that I can’t fall asleep, neither. I do, often before I’m even lyin’ down properly, once or twice standin’ up, I’m sure. But stayin’ asleep, that’s the problem. I wake up, almost every time, after an hour, at most two, with a start, heart hammerin’ like mad.

First I thought somethin’ around me must be wakin’ me up, or that I was having nightmares. But I don’ think so now. I just wake up, and my brain is on full alert right away, and I cand go back to sleep all night. Cuz my brain gets into it right ‘way, all that shit that’s goin’ down, all the stuff That’s worryin’ me.

And I start thinkin’ ‘bout Rick, every time. How worried he is, wonder how he’s copin’, havin’ to carry so much more’n any of us, and how that load gets heavier and heavier every day. I think about how I could help, and then I turn all them things I wanna say over and over in my head. I never manage to say any of ‘em, but that don’t matter, my brain insists on doin’ this, night after night.

Ruminatin’, Merle’d call it, and scoff.

All this means I’m not quite myself sometimes, and I think Rick’s noticed it, too. I’m not sure I have any idea how to make it stop. Only thing I’ve been able to come up with is try and get sleep at other times. I don’ really have a choice, often, anyway. I just fall asleep when I stop, whatever the situation.

Car journeys are good for that, I’ve found. I don’ like drivin’ anyway, so whenever the others don’ insist I get behind the wheel I settle in the back and have a nap. I’ve a feelin’ Rick’s told them not to make me drive. And when he’s drivin’ I somehow always end up next to him in the passenger seat. He’ll look at me and smile when we get in, like he’s tellin’ me to go to sleep if I want. That’s the best sleep ’ve had in weeks.

I’m still watchin’ him, by the way. He’s still got his eyes closed and for the first time in like forever he seems relaxed. I’m sure he’s not asleep. Just enjoying the bit of sun we’re getting’ today, through that restless cloud cover. It’s not too cold, either, no wind, no rain or snow for a few days now. Maybe winter is finally endin’.

’m glad he’s resting, that he has a chance to just be, for a bit. We’ve caught enough squirrels to get by for a lil while, anything else now’s a bonus. We’ll check the buildings behind us, but there’s no rush. The longer were out, the better. ‘t helps Rick get some of his balance back, and some patience with us all, especially Lori. They’re not good, I know. We all know it, but I try not to think about it too much cuz it’s scary. When they fight Rick is scary, and it makes the group anxious.

Instead, I think about him some more. How nice it’d feel if he’d touch me, with those strong hands, those fingers which are no longer smooth and manicured, like when I met him. I know they can be gentle, I see it when he deals with Carl, or when he and Lori are havin’ a good day. When his fingers brush my hands or my arms by accident, or when he claps me on the shoulder like he sometimes does when he’s pleased, I feel goosebumps all up and down my spine. It’s a great feeling.

I also think about his lips, and how I love to see him smile. It doesn’t happen nearly as often as I’d like, there’s not much to smile about, usually. But when he does he lights up the whole room with it. And when he smiles at me… but I can hardly think ‘bout that, cuz it gives me a whole lotta feelings, and if I let them take hold now I’ll be useless for the rest of the day. I’m not gonna go into detail, but that particular fantasy involves him doing more’n just smile. Just thinkin’ about that makes me grin a bit.

And his eyes, if I think about them too much I’m in trouble, too. They are blue, like mine, and yet totally different. He can express things with his eyes other people need their whole body for. He can make people back off just by lookin’ at them, and he can scare the living shit outta anyone with that if he cares to.

But when he’s in a certain mood his eyes are the gentlest thing about him. I’ve seen it, have felt that look on me. Rick’s best at spotting when I’m tense and ready to bolt, and he’ll just look at me then, not stare like he does when he’s suspicious, but just look, and his eyes will be so kind, and so focused, like all he sees is me, like he knows what goes on inside m’head. And with his eyes he’ll tell me that there’s nothing to worry about, and I’ll feel myself calm down, even if I don’ want to.

It’s a good feeling, when he’s concentratin’ just on you cuz he feels you need him to be there, at that moment.

I don’ always like bein’ helped, or taken special notice of, or given privileges, or bein’ fussed over. When I wasn’t so good after Sophia I didn’t want Rick to know, or any of them. But the truth is, Rick often knows how to help, how to make me feel better, even when I don’ want the fussin’. I just can’t figure out how to ask for it, that’s the trouble.

It doesn’t always work. Sometimes it’s just too much, him wanting to know everything, needing to understand where m’head’s at. But how to tell him that without making him feel bad, and that I still appreciate his concern, I’ve not worked out yet either. ’ve upset him plenty by being short with him when all he wanted to do was to help. I’m just not so good with people.

But he’s helped, and the others too. I’m easier around them all than ’ve ever been around people. And in my book, that’s something.

Sittin’ here in the sunshine, lettin’ it warm me better’n any fire can, musing ‘bout Rick and our life has made me sleepy. I’ve had another bad night, and since we’re almost out of gas we’re not gonna be drivin’ anywhere today. I’m feeling relaxed and safe with Rick by my side. I don’t wanna disturb him yet. My eyes are starting to fall closed. I’ll just rest them for a bit. There’s no danger here right now. Just a few minutes, soak up the sun while we can…

 


	6. The first winter

You’d hoped he’d fall asleep. Partly why you agreed to go with him, cos you know he needs rest and won’t get any today unless you get him away from it all and relaxed enough to let his guard down for a little while.

You half open your eyes and look over at him cautiously. He’s resting with his back against the brick wall by your side, and his face is starting to relax at last. You can see the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin so much more worrying than the paleness of winter or lack of food. You’ve been watching his skin get more translucent, bloodless over weeks now, as he’s having more and more trouble sleeping.

You don’t usually go for underhand tactics, prefer it all out in the open. But for his sake, cos you know how he gets under scrutiny and pressure, you had a quiet word with the others, telling them never to wake him when he does nod off, if they can help it. You’ve arranged it so he always sits in the front of the car with you when you’re driving cos you’ve noticed just how deeply he sleeps then, how much better, more himself he is after that, every time. That’s why you’re here now.

That, and you needed time out yourself. Life’s been more stressful since the farm fell than ever before. You feel it more every day, and the tension is starting to get to you. You’re having trouble sleeping yourself, and the thought of food makes you queasy more often than not. You don’t mind giving most of your small rations to Lori and Carl.

Out scouting with your hunter is the only time you feel truly at peace right now. He always knows when you’re at breaking point, and whisks you away. You’re so grateful, but you don’t know how to tell him. Not that he needs to hear it. In fact, not needing to talk when you’re out with him is one of the best things about the whole experience. Out here you can let him take the lead. He knows his stuff, and he keeps you safe. And sane.

Your feelings for him are confusing, you admit that much to yourself. Not that you have any designs on his virtue. You’re sure he’d not mind if he knew you like men as well as women, but you don’t think he’d be terribly keen on you trying it on with him. Though, who knows? Sometimes you catch him looking, and his eyes seem full of longing…

Or maybe you’re just imagining it cos you haven’t had sex in so long. He doesn’t seem the type to go much for intimacy. Oh, you’re sure he needs it just as much as anyone, but probably not from you. Although…

Oh, never mind. Keep your pants on, Grimes. You‘ve got a wife, after all, and you should be grateful your family is still intact after all of this. At that thought you almost scoff out loud, but you stop yourself. He needs to sleep a bit more, and you don’t want to startle him back to wakefulness.

You glance at him again. He’s deeply asleep now, head lolling to one side a bit, against the wall. You suppress an urge to pull him against you, make him more comfortable. He’d not go for that, you know that.

He looks so young, asleep. Hardly older than Carl. Of course he’s not your son, but still, he’s your responsibility, just like they all are. But somehow it feels more personal with him. Like he’s more than just a member of the group. He feels like family, in a very real sense. You’ve become closer since the farm, probably closer than you and Shane ever were. Different, but close nonetheless.

And it’s not just you feeling protective over him. He’s such an asset to the group, such help to you. He really is your right hand man. You trust him, you rely on him, and increasingly you seek his counsel. Cos he’s smart, and has a level head. Not university smart, but not just streetwise, either. He can see beyond the obvious, and he doesn’t let his judgement be clouded by fear. He’s good people, and even more importantly, he can tell the good from the bad with more accuracy than even you, a lot of the time.

Oh, he can get scared, all right, and gets stressed out about things. And he’s not so good when he does. But they’re different things from what the rest of you get scared of. Sometimes, not so easy to deal with, either. He was all done in after Sophia, and you still wonder just how bad things got for him then.

On a couple of occasions, when you’ve been changing clothes or washing in close quarters you think you saw scars on his legs and belly. Old scars, but they make you wonder about his past. And he always hides his back, that’s just second nature to him, and you are sure that’s cos of scars as well. He’s also lost quite a lot of weight, though recently you’ve noticed he’s eating better again, when there’s food, and the main problem now seems to be his insomnia.

You can see his brow crease a little now, and he gives a twitch, then a low moan. Bad dreams, you all have them. Still, you wish you could do something to take his away right now, make his sleep as untroubled and restful as you can.

It’s not to be, not this time.

There’s a rustle in the undergrowth opposite your vantage point. You can hear dragging footsteps, a groan, a thump. He jerks awake next to you, instantly alert. His eyes meet yours as they open, and despite the walkers shambling towards you across the expanse of grass he takes a moment to look at you with tenderness, like he knows what you did for him just now. Then he gives you a tentative smile, which is a better thank you in your book than a hundred words. You smile back.

“Feel ok?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Sure. Shall we?”

“Guess so. Shame…”

“Right? C’mon…”

You both rise and walk quickly around the side of the building, away from the walkers, away from your shared moment of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided not to continue with this story. The different POVs and the style I wrote this in were great to play with, but the story is too close to what I'm doing elsewhere. I'm still glad I wrote the story, but it's time to move on.


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